


What are little boys made of?

by ratfromasewer



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Best Friends, Coming Out, Friendship/Love, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Oneshot, Teen Angst, Trans Character, ftm frank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:33:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4206405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratfromasewer/pseuds/ratfromasewer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Share a coke with - wait, what?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What are little boys made of?

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I'm not trans, so I can't claim that this is in any way realistic or correct, and if you feel like it isn't, please tell me how to improve it in the comments.  
> Also, their age differences are the same as they are in real life, so I guess Frank's 16 or 17 and Mikey's 18 and so on. Otherwise this is obviously fictional and the year, I suppose, is like 2011-ish.  
> I tried to avoid typos but as I've said before, English is not my first language and I tend to make mistakes, so bare with me, and ask me if you don't understand something.  
> Please comment here or spam my inbox in my tumblr, I go by the name gothfuckingclaudia.
> 
> Also, this is dedicated to my best friend who's like the bravest guy I know and I love him so much (I'm sorry if this is shit, I tried)

”You’ve been standing there for a while now.” One of the shop assistants intervenes, giving me a good-natured, helpful smile. Her hair is so platinum blonde that the light it reflects nearly burns my eyes. I keep staring at the floor.

  “I’m ok, thanks.”

  “Are you sure I can’t help you?” Her teeth are whiter than the congress, and she’s wearing shiny new converse.

  “No, it’s _fine._ ”

  “Okay, just thought I’d check.”

  She walks away, leaving me struggling to breathe in a cloud of Victoria’s secret or whatever poison she smells like. She has a waistline as thin as her wrists and smile as fake as her nails. But I can’t deny, she’s stunning – and I stand here looking like I’ve been dragged through a mangle. With a bad skin and a cheap haircut, a hoodie that I might’ve washed couple of months ago, and sneakers that were too small for me even when I bought them.

 

  _What are little boys made of?_

_What are little boys made of?_

_Snips and snails_

_And puppy-dogs' tails_

I don’t know if this was a bad idea.

Not that I’ve done anything yet.

But I’ve gotten the thought in my head and now I’m stuck with it, and that’s that. So I might as well just do it, because _fuck it,_ as if my situation could a _ctually_ get any worse. I guess that rock bottoms are just my thing.

I grab three cokes – oh wait, make that four, Mikey is coming too – and head towards the checkout before I have the time to regret. As if this would be the crucial point. I still have million opportunities to get cold feet. I still have million opportunities to turn the other way and run.

  It’s just that taking steps instead of being frozen is terrifying, after being a dull, dead statue of there’s-no-way-I-can-do-anything for years.

  The cashier has yellow, crooked teeth.

  Why does everyone smile around here? Do they get extra money for that? Or do they get kicked out if they don’t? _Are the surveillance cameras really made for the employees instead of customers?_ It’d make sense, I guess.

  I think I’ve read a theory about something like that, sometime, somewhere. Internet is full of freaks.

 

_What are little boys made of?_

_What are little boys made of?_

_Rocks and leafs_

_And boxer briefs_

 

I take the bottles and regret not buying a plastic bag, but whatever, I’m too awkward to ask for one now and I guess I can carry them anyway. Saving the fucking planet, here. Less plastic, more inconvenience.

  Such a saint, I am. Dad would be so proud.

  I guess he is, though. Sometimes I think so. Sometimes, when he sends me drumsticks for my birthday or takes me to concerts, clears the way with his elbows and shoulders and helps me to the front row. He rolls his eyes when I jump and scream, but he doesn’t stop me, and afterwards I usually spend the night at his place, and we drink beer on his balcony at 3AM and talk about his college hookups. “Don’t tell your mom about this, though” is his finish line for every story he tells, and he knows that I won’t, because just like him, I don’t stand to talk to mom more than five minutes, and the topics of our conversations are usually washing the dishes or my disappointing grades.

  Dad never really gets drunk no matter how much he drinks, but at some point he just falls asleep and I sneak inside, text Gerard, because he always wants to know how the concert was, even though he’s horrifyingly jealous. He’s never been to any concerts, ever, because if possible, Ways are even poorer than my family, and he hasn’t even dared to ask for some money. And it’s not like anyone would hire him, with the haircut – and don’t even get me started on the eyeliner.

I tell Gerard every single little detail, because he has a better imagination than anyone else I’ve known in my entire life, and I can picture him closing his eyes and trying to teleport himself into the front row with me.

  “That’s so cool, though” He replies to everything I tell him, and I smile to myself, because I can hear him say it with his odd high-pitched voice and I can see his dreamy little smile when he says it.

 

_What are little boys made of?_

_What are little boys made of?_

_Beer and bands_

_And shaking hands_

It’s rainy today. Fall is finally coming. And in few weeks we’re all gonna be smoking in the high school parking lot again, wondering how did we manage to waste all summer without doing a damn thing. The rich kids are gonna be tanned as usual, because they’ve gotten out of Jersey for few months _but of course_ and we working class kids are gonna pretend we had fun too, when in fact, all we did was complain and get on each other’s nerves and spray-paint dicks on the library wall. And of course, all of them will make jokes about how I still look like I belong in the elementary school and someone’s gonna ask me (as a joke, of course) how many snickers it’d cost to get a quick blowjob before English and I’ll tell them to go fuck themselves, because the fact I gave _one_ blowjob in a party like _five months ago_ because I craved chocolate and this guy happened to have a bag of mars bars with him does **not** mean I do people favors for candy before class.

  Besides, the guy was cute.

  And of course, Mikey will overhear the joke and he will arrive like a fucking tornado and cause a huge fucking mess and scare the living shit out of everybody because _how fucking dare you call her a slut you fucking assholes_ and he will try to protect me, and I will try to calm him down, because even though he means well, everyone just ends up hating me even more. If that’s even possible.

  Or maybe I picked the wrong word. No one actually _hates_ me. They just think I’m generally gross, like a bug.

 

There’s little puddles on the asphalt, heavy clouds hanging low and painting the horizon in grey and blue. This is exactly the kind of weather I’d take my dog for a walk if I had one. But mom pretends to be allergic and according to her, I’m not responsible, so that’s something I’m only gonna have to dream about. Among other things.

 

_What are little boys made of?_

_What are little boys made of?_

_Rain and scars_

_And The Star Wars_

Gerard texts me: **where are u** and I’m about to answer but delete the message before I send it, because he can wait for like, three minutes it takes me to jog to Ray’s house now, and I curse Gerard in my mind for always being so fucking impatient.

  **hurry up bitch** he texts me again and I roll my eyes even though no one can see me, because he’s such a fucking jerk and I really need to tell him that again.

  **sorry** comes few seconds later.

  **ur not a bitch.**

I keep jogging, not able to hide my stupid smile.

  **y did we ask M to come tho ?!.**

I can almost hear Gerard’s voice through his texts, and he keeps spamming me even though I’m not answering him.

  **he’s so ANNOYING!!**

If Gerard’s gonna pull the age card again, I’m gonna punch him, I swear to god. I don’t know how I’ve somehow gotten the mysterious ability to pass as a human being despite my young age, but somehow Mikey, being _older_ than me is still too young for his precious company? Fucking pretentious college kid, so full of himself.

  And still, he’s my best friend. I still don’t have a clue how that happened, but I’m not exactly complaining.

  I’m just a gross little High School junior currently known as the sugar junky slut, and Gerard’s an unsocial, coffee-addicted college student who barely never goes to college, which drives both of his parents crazy.

  Like I mentioned, they Ways aren’t rolling in money, and the fact Gerard even is in college is kinda unlikely. It might have something to do with some kind of scholarships but I’m not sure about it, and Gerard never talks about it, so I don’t care.

  Mikey’s a whole another story. He’s the respected Senior, with a capital S. No one gets on his nerves and still he chooses to stand up for me like twice a week, or basically whenever he witnesses someone picking on me or yelling something dumb at me in the hallway. I really like him, and I like his company, but his attempts to help me really just make the situation worse, because everyone thinks that I’m sleeping with him although in freshman year everyone was convinced that I was a lesbian, so now they’re kinda just confused and unsure about it. Sometimes I wonder how boring people’s lives must really be if they spend their free times to pondering on my sex life (which is really not as interesting as most of them seem to think.)

 **I hate him so much** Gerard texts, and I know he doesn’t mean it, of course he doesn’t. Actually, the brothers get along pretty well considering that they are, well, brothers. It’s just that sometimes Gerard can be so bitchy, and I know that he’s kinda worried that I’ll let Mikey replace him, which is ridiculous and I’m sure he realizes it too, he just can’t help himself for being so insecure.

  **pls come soon.**

I’m trying, I’m trying… It’s just hard to jog when there’s coke bottles in both of your hands and pockets.

_What are little boys made of?_

_What are little boys made of?_

_Coins and fights_

_And puppy bites_

This day has been so weird for me, in a way I feel it in my head. I see everything through foggy glasses, and I memorize details – there’s songs playing in my head but I don’t recognize the melodies, and I just feel so sharp and spaced out at the same time.

  I can’t explain it.

  And I can’t explain _it_ either, but I know that sooner or later I have to say something, because if I end up stopping this shit in a lovely little overdose (which I like to think as my backup plan instead of my actual intention) it’d be unfair to leave them clueless. I hate to leave people in uncertainty, but I hate explaining myself too.

  But if things were other way round, I would want them to tell me this kind of stuff. And they’ve never asked and they never talk about it, but I guess they can even try to believe me. Maybe. I don’t know. Or maybe they’ll just leave it with mumbles and little _oh_ s and keep pretending like it’s nothing, like everything can just stay this way.

  It’s so disappointing how people complain but they never work to change anything. It’s so boring. I’ve seen that thousands times, that’s all people do in towns like this.

 

_What are little boys made of?_

_What are little boys made of?_

_Tears and pills_

_And medical bills_

I ring the doorbell with my chin because all of my hands are taken right now, and I’m way too short and inflexible to reach it with my knee. I don’t know if Ray’s parents are home, but in case they are, I wear my family-proof smile.

  Ray’s parents have always been a little bit afraid of me. I guess I have a bad reputation around here. It’s a shame, they’re nice people and I have nothing against them – if you count out the fact they never let me stay for a night because I might do something _inappropriate_ with their son, which is both ridiculous and gross, because Ray is not my type and besides I’ve known him since he had to babysit me when he was eight and our moms met in a book club. Besides nothing is inappropriate for us anymore - Ray’s seen me naked many times (it’s not a big deal), including the one occasion I escaped from him and decided to swim in their rainwater tank.

  I was _five_ okay, it felt like a good idea.

  Ray thought that I had drowned, and ran to his mom, crying his eyes out, yelling _mom I killed her I’m so sorry_ which obviously freaked out both of our moms and they ran all over the place looking for me, when I was just having fun and pretending to be a submarine in the tank, butt-naked and feeling clever.

  Ray still remembers it, and he always tells me that I’ve traumatized him and made sure he’s never gonna have children. Ray says he’s afraid of kids because of me.

  I consider it as an achievement.

 

“Finally” Mikey opens the door, “Get in.”

  He looks like death, I’m guessing he hasn’t slept in about four days. Gerard’s been telling about Mikey’s new girlfriend and how they’re always having text fights at night, and how their parents have threatened to take Mikey’s phone from him if his phone bills keep rising. I haven’t quite understood why they can’t have their fights in person, but who am I to judge anyway.

  “Nice to see you too.” My head feels like it’s not attached to my body and it’s freaking me out, I feel like I might slip out anything, “are the parents here or…”

  “Obviously not.” Mikey rolls his eyes, “Like we’d actually…”

  “It was just a question, don’t be so shitty.” I push him out of my way and head towards the living room. Gerard’s laying on the couch and hugging a pillow, biting his lip like he’d be thinking very hard, and Ray’s paging through some magazine I don’t recognize.

  “Finally” Gerard sighs from relief when he sees me, “And don’t care about Mikey, he’s been an ass today, trouble in paradise.”

  “I’ll shove your head up your anus if you keep saying that.” Mikey replies with a straight face and turns off the TV.

  “What are you guys arguing about, anyway?” I ask Mikey, trying to look understanding when really, I just kinda want to laugh about it with Gerard later. I refuse to feel guilty about that.

  “I don’t e _ven know_ ” Mikey groans, “She’s such a bitch, I don’t understand, she’s so complicated and never tells me what I’ve done wrong, it pisses me off so much.”

  Gerard gives me a meaningful look when he thinks that Mikey doesn’t see – the one that’s like, _he’s an idiot, isn’t he_ and I nod just a bit so no one else even notices.

  It’s just that we both happen to like that idiot a lot.

  “Sucks, man” I shrug, “Hi Ray.”

  “Hi” Ray doesn’t take his eyes off the magazine, “Sup?”

  “Not much” I consider sitting on the floor but I’m nervous and shaky and it feels so weird to just stand here when I’m about to what I’m about to, and it’s just… It’s just so scary.

  I’m sweating under my hoodie, but I’m not sure if I’m cold or if I’m hot or if I’m just frightened as _fuck._

“Are you cool?” Gerard asks me; of course he does. Of course he notices that’s something wrong, he knows me too well, and he of all people should be able to tell when I’m keeping something from them.

  “Yea” I mutter, “Yea. I… I brought coke.”

  So, I toss them the bottles and they catch them, one by one, and it feels like the second that could stop my heart.

  “This stupid _share a coke_ thing” Mikey mumbles, “Which names did you get? Mine isn’t on any single one of them, I swear.”

  “I got _Frank_ ” Gerard spells from the label, “that’s so basic. They’re always so basic.”

  “I have Frank too” Mikey says, “it feels so stupid, like, _share a coke with Frank._ I don’t know anyone named Frank.”

  “I’ve got Frank too” Ray points out, “what the fuck, Frida? Were the Franks like on sale or something?”

  Three suspicious pairs of eyes staring at me, expecting a joke or a funny explanation like _I thought that Frank’s a good name for a puppy_ and I stand here, shitting myself and wanting to die or just disappear.

  “Nah” I stare at my shoes, “I… I mean, you’re sharing a coke with Frank.”

 

_What are little boys made of?_

_What are little boys made of?_

_Suits and ties_

_And stupid lies_

 

They don’t understand, I can tell. It’s not like expected them to, right away. This is not some fun fact **oh hey by the way** thing; but oh god, do I wish that it was.

“What does that mean?” Ray asks, and Mikey’s opened his bottle and taken a sip, and he’s staring at me like I’d be growing a third hand out of my forehead and this is too much, this is too much, this is too much, this is too much, this is _too fucking much_

  “I’m Frank” I mutter, and it’s not as smooth as it was supposed to be, but I guess it’s better than nothing. At least it’s out there, somewhere, now. And this is the first time I’ve said it out loud, and I guess that funny feeling inside me means it’s good.

 

_What are little boys made of?_

_What are little boys made of?_

_Spit and guts_

_And little cuts_

“What do you mean you’re Frank?” Mikey’s eyebrows disappear behind his hairline.

  “Isn’t that your dad’s name?” Geard looks at me, and I guess he’s the one starting to understand first. I’d guess that’d be the case.

“Y-yea” I stutter, “And I’m like…I’m Frank Junior, ‘cause like, they would’ve named me that way if I had born… like…differently.”

 

If I had born like I was supposed to.

 

“Why would you want to be Frank?” Ray’s being slow, “Frida’s a good name, and like, you _weren’t_ born a boy. Or has this something to do with your mom? I don’t get it.”

 

I can’t speak anymore. Words have left me. I just stand here waiting for someone else to take the lead, and I’m tearing up, I can feel it in my eyes, and one of the clearest things on my mind is that, holy shit, this is the first time Gerard sees me cry.

  No, this has nothing to with my mom.

  No, this has nothing to do with my dad, either.

  This has everything to do with me, and the person I think I am, the person I’ve secretly been for a long time and the person I’ve had to hide from everyone.

  I’d want to say that, but I can’t, because I can’t cry and speak at the same time and I just want the ground to swallow me and I just want to run, but I can’t move, I just stand here and hide my face in my hands and it _hurts._

 

_What are little boys made of?_

_What are little boys made of?_

_Fear and stress_

_And loneliness_

 

“Hey.” Gerard speaks up, and he sounds so small and terrified, but calm at the same time, and before I know it, he’s hugging me and all over me and I stand stiff in his arms and cry my eyes out against his shoulder.

“What’s wrong with her?” Ray asks, and he sounds so genuinely worried that I start to cry even more, and I know that they all mean well, but I’m not sure if I can ever make them understand this, and that’s terrifying because they’re the only people I have right now, and if they leave, I think I’ll kill myself because I can’t stand the thought of being even more alone.

 

“Hey.” Gerard eventually cups my face and tries to dry me tears with the sleeves of his shirt, and I’m sure I look like hell, “hey, are you okay?”

  “I –“ I don’t have the courage to look into his eyes so I just talk to his chest, “I feel so wrong. I feel so wrong all the time. I feel so out of place, I feel so horrible. I feel so gross. I feel like I’m in a wrong skin, I feel like everything is just… everything’s just so fucked up.”

  “What is it?” Gerard doesn’t let go of me, “What is it… _Frank?_ ”

  I’m speechless. I’m silent.

  “Is it…” Gerard sounds like he’s as terrified as I am, “Are you… do you feel like a _boy_?”

 

_What are little boys made of?_

_What are little boys made of?_

_Hope and trust_

_And tasting dust_

Mikey and Ray have gotten up too and they look so helpless and clueless like living question marks, and I’m sure that this isn’t what they expected this day to be.

_What are little boys made of?_

_What are little boys made of?_

_Right and wrong_

_And being strong_

“I don’t feel like a boy.” I say, “I _am_ a boy.”

 

And that’s that. That’s what I’ve been wanting to tell them, what I’ve been supposed to say but I’ve never had the courage or the time or the opportunity. But I’ve never been good at lying, and I’ve never liked keeping secrets, and I guess this is just one of the things I’ve been needing to do, and now it’s done.

 

 

The silence hurts my ears and makes my organs liquefy in fear, and my heart’s beating, but at least I don’t have to do this again. It's been done now.

 

“Are you sure?” Ray asks and he looks so confused and kinda scared, and the look on Mikey’s face is new to me, so empty, like he wouldn’t know what to think, but at least Gerard’s still hugging me and he’s not letting go, and I’m hugging him back and hoping that this isn’t the last time I get to do this, because I would miss this a lot.

  I would miss them. They’re the only friends I’ve got.

 

“Yeah.” I mutter, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure about this.”

  “How long?” Gerard wipes few hairs from my face, “How long have you known?”

  “Always.” I mumble. “I’ve always kinda known. That something was wrong. So fucking wrong, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it, and it just… I’ve always felt like I was a time bomb and I’ve always hated it, I’ve always carried around, and it’s… weird, I know, and I guess this is hard for you to understand but please –“

  “Calm down” Gerard shushes, “It’s okay.”

  “It’s just that” I’m crying again but I ignore it, “It’s just that I can’t lose your guys but I’ve been so scared because I don’t want to lie to you about anything but I’m not sure how you would react, and it’s just… I want to be _Frank,_ because that’s who I am, but I… I didn’t know how to tell you this, and I’m just so scared that you don’t understand me and that you’ll hate me and tell me to go away because you know that you are everything I have and I’ve thought about killing myself a lot lately but I didn’t want you guys to go through that and I’m just so fucked up and I don’t know what to do.”

 

“Oh man.” Says Ray.

 

“Shit.” Says Mikey.

 

“I had no idea” Gerard whispers, “Oh my god, I had _no idea._ I just thought that everything –“ He squeezes me even tighter, “I just thought that you were you, like you were a little bit different, and I thought that… I don’t know what I thought, honestly. I guess I’m just dumb or something.”

 

Every word he says is like thousands pounds lifted from my shaking shoulders.

 

“I’m sorry” I mutter, “for causing a scene.”

  “You shouldn’t be” Gerard sounds like he’s gonna cry too, “please don’t be sorry about this. This is good. It’s good you told us. Right, Ray? **Mikey**?”

  I’m pretty sure the look he gives over his shoulder could kill a bear. There’s reasons why I love him so much. There’s reasons why I love Gerard. And he’s just making me love him more every second.

  Ray recovers first, clearing his throat and I’m pretty sure he’s blushing.

  “It’s –“ He looks like he’s choosing his words very carefully, “It’s good you told us Fri… _Frank._ I mean Frank.”

 

“Okay.” Mikey joins, “Okay. Okay.”

  “Who are you, fucking John Green or something?” Gerard accuses, “Come on, Mikey, you can do better than that. Don’t be a fucking shithead.”

  “I’m not being a shithead, don’t make this about how great you are” Mikey argues, “If Frida says that she’s Frank then she’s Frank, fine.”

  “ _he’s_ Frank, Mikey, this isn’t such a difficult concept.” Gerard corrects eagerly.

  “Hey” I shut them both up before they start a fight, “I know it takes time, the pronouns and shit, and like, you’re the only ones who know so don’t…. I mean… I’ll tell everyone myself. When it’s the time.”

  “Of course.” Gerard finally lets me go and pats my back, “You know best.”

 

  “Does that mean that you’re gay, though?” Mikey’s eyes widen, “Holy shit.”

  Gerard looks like he’s suffering, whimpering from behind his teeth: “I’m not related to you, I swear to god, I’m so fucking adopted.”

 

I shrug, almost smiling, because this seems like a normal thing, even though it’s really not, and I have no idea how they manage to make it so casual.

  “Oh my god, she’s gay!” Mikey says joyfully, then notices Gerard’s murderous glare and quickly corrects: “I mean _he’s_ gay.”

  “Really?” I roll my eyes, “ _That’s_ the thing that surprises you?”

  “Well it’s not like you were ever a pretty girl so I’m not –“

  “Tonight, Mikey, when you go to bed” Gerard says softly, “I’m gonna stab you in your sleep, and bury you in our backyard, and no one will ever hear from you again.”

  “Don’t be fucking rude” Mikey punches Gerard’s arm, “You know that Frida’s not that sensitive. I mean Frank’s not.”

 

  Ray’s been quiet, but he doesn’t look disgusted, basically just irritated, and he shakes his head a bit, asking me: “Can I drink my coke now?”

  “You’re both so horrible!” Gerard whines, “How can you –“

  “No, Gerard” I stop him, “It’s totally fine, I don’t wanna talk about it anymore, can’t we just move on already?“

  Gerard shuts up, but he keeps looking at me, and I know internally he’s freaking out because he’s worried, but that’s alright. We can talk about it when we’re alone. I’ll explain him everything, if really wants to listen.

  For now, it’s better if we just keep on living. Normally. Because that makes me feel little less weird too.

 

_What are little boys made of?_

_What are little boys made of?_

_Guilt and shame_

_And no one’s to blame._


End file.
